


To Be Loved

by LiterallyFuckingSatan



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Depression, Gen, I like writing sad Tord, I'm sorry my son, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, poor boy, this is really short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26344276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiterallyFuckingSatan/pseuds/LiterallyFuckingSatan
Summary: This is a ventedit: HOW DID THIS GET 60 HITS?
Kudos: 7





	To Be Loved

  
Oh, to be loved.

The impossible wish dances throughout the his head.  
He is doomed, cursed to only dream of a tomorrow worth seeing.  
But he does not deserve it.

He does not deserve to be loved.  
He deserves no one to gently knock at his door, with no other intention than to simply see if he is alright.  
He does not deserve a shoulder to cry on.  
He does not deserve a single life to run to in his misery.  
He does not deserve the shelter of care and friendship.  
He does not deserve someone to make him feel like the sun, moon and stars were made just for him. 

He is vile.  
He is selfish.  
He is hopeless.

These hateful blades of human tongue crush his wishes, and break his heart like a cracked window.  
These are the blades the cut his leg, leaving thin crimson lines gently pouring the pain out.

He heaves through black, rotting lungs. The smoke of the cigar - he can still smell it in the air.

**You are pitiful.**  
**You are discarded of.**  
**You are terrible.**

Three more, leaving the sharp little pains above his ankle. The words tear his skin open to see the blood pool and run down.

His room is dark and cold, and he tries to focus on the rain, sweetly pouring its sound from outside of his window. It's calming. It makes him feel better as the hate gently runs out of his veins.

But it will not stay this way, he knows very well.

Nothing stays. No one.

As he tries to cool down, he wipes his tears. The soft red fabric of his hoodie envelopes him in a warm embrace. Taking the bandages off of his shelf, he begins to tend to the cuts.

Faded scars liter his tan skin. Staring at them, he frowns in disgust. His scars are ugly. They make him feel disgusting.  
A gentle sigh of relief escapes his lungs as the wrapping covers them.

Once he's done, he slips on a pair of socks and curls up in his bed. Tucking the rest of his body into his hoodie and pulling up the hood, he begins to feel slightly better. Falling to the side, he knots his fingers into the caramel brown horns his hair styles itself in.

His eyes close, and he begins to drift into sleep.

He will dream to be happy.

He will dream to be loved. 


End file.
